


Father

by AkutamFurno (DregranEntropy)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5890330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DregranEntropy/pseuds/AkutamFurno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A girl raised to be an assassin finds out something about her father...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This was mostly a story that let me establish more of the universe these characters exist in. It's not part of my storyline anymore. It's not written to a standard I like, and it just got too long in the end.  
> I'll be leaving it here, though, since it's not the worst thing I've written and all dem views.

While the mistress weighs us and measures our bodies, the only thing I can think of is that I’m not human. Separated from my mother at birth, I never knew my parents. Immediately after my birth, my mother’s use was over and her death followed. I am her fifth child; or rather, I was the fifth time she had given birth. Of the other girls, four of them share the same biological parents as me. We are all sisters some way.

It’s my turn to step forward. The mistress presses a tape measure all over my body, shouting out numbers for the woman behind her to record. She cups my breasts and squeezes until it hurts. I am eleven years old but I have been gaining weight on my hips and chest. The mistress hasn’t said anything about it, and still doesn’t today. She steps back and I return to the line.

“Fifteen and One,” the mistress says. We both approach her, walking an imaginary line across the front of the other girls. We stop at the mistress’ feet, saying “Yes, mistress!” in unison. My mouth turns to a smile, though I suppress the mild joy. I have had more trouble keeping my emotions in control lately.

One is the most understanding. She always hugged me when I cried. We all got along, with One as our eldest sister. I’m only three years younger. She looked out for us and we looked up to her. We have done everything together, after all.

The woman behind the mistress leaves the room, returning with a wheeled table. On top of the table are two guns. Two adults covered in black clothing drag two men into the dull grey training room. The mistress tells us they are criminals. She says we have to kill them without hesitation.

I don’t look at One, but I know she would reassure me. This isn’t the first time we’ve executed criminals. I take the gun on the right, and then walk towards one man. There’s no bag over his head this time, so I can see all of the scratches and bruises on his face from torture. I keep the gun a few millimetres from his head. He’s looking down, mumbling something. I hear him say “no mercy”, with a quick chuckle.

I squeeze the trigger. The bang doesn’t make me jump anymore, and the blood splatter no longer bothers me; it’s much easier to kill criminals now. One and I place the guns back on the table and return to the line. The blood on our naked bodies doesn’t feel warm like the first time we killed.

The adults usually remove the men after the mistress examines the wound and gives feedback. This time the mistress tells us the men were innocent. They committed no crime. Their use had expired. That means I killed an innocent man.

One chokes briefly. I don’t look at her. The mistress calls us both forward again, and we repeat the process from before. The mistress tells One to get on her knees. She tells me execute her, simply because she showed emotion. If I hesitate, she will make Two kill me, I am sure of it.

I have no choice. I grab the gun and point it at One’s head. I squeeze the trigger and she falls without a sound. The bang echoes in my ears. I can’t hear anything. I place the gun down and return to the line. I can see One’s smile. She hugs me as I cry into her chest. She washes the blood off my chest and wipes tears from my eyes, telling me not to let them see my emotions.

I feel someone bump my shoulder. Fourteen whispers to get a move on. I lead the girls through the gym equipment, one stopping at each station. We begin our daily routine. For the whole day, I think of nothing but One.

The next day is the same. Two and Fourteen kill two innocent people, and then we complete our gym circuit. The meals taste dry, I’m numb to the injections, blood tests and weapon training pass by quickly. I have this ache in my chest, on my right side. It’s taking all my stamina to keep upright.

The day after that, the pain worsens. I’m crying myself to sleep. I wet the bed when I wake up. I don’t know how long ago I killed One. I don’t remember any of my mental training; I lose the ability to remember what day and date it is from duration alone.

I fumble when disassembling the guns. I can see One in the shower, holding me. She whispers “Don’t let them see you cry, Fifi.” My hands are shaking and I drop the gun to the floor. Pieces go everywhere. The mistress tells Two and I to come forward.

“Fight to the death,” she says. Two punches me right away, in the stomach. She follows through with a perfect kick to the side of my head, knocking me down. The ground is sloped. My whole head hurts. I push up onto my hands and knees, with considerable effort. Warm blood runs around my left eye. Two kicks me again, in the ribs, then again in the jaw. She punches the wind out of me and pushes her left arm against my throat, somehow having flipped me onto my back.

30 seconds pass. My breathing is normal, and her punch didn’t do any damage. She isn’t pushing at the right angle, so it doesn’t do anything. This pain feels... numb. It’s not the same as the pain on my chest when I think of One. Two isn’t focusing on my legs, so I can kick her. I could then throw her to the side and get on top of her.

I kick Two between her legs. I use the shock to push her arm off me, then grab her by the neck and throw her to the ground. I palm her head, bouncing it against the ground again, knocking her out. I roll her onto her stomach and sit on her. My breathing is sharp and fast. I turn her head to one side, then push down on her temple with one hand and dig my fingers around her throat with the other. I crush her trachea, blood spurting out of her mouth. She starts to squirm, but I position my knees on her shoulders. Grabbing each side of her head, I twist until there’s a faint crack and the sound of her throat muscles tearing. She stops squirming. Blood oozes out of her mouth, drenching two fingers on my right hand.

I stand. My back is to the mistress. When I turn, she is smiling, for the first time I’ve seen. She praises me and tells me to get back in line. My chest hurts. With each breath, more sharp pain pierces my chest. My stomach feels like it’s going to erupt. I vomit, covering my front. The mistress tells the other girls to move to the circuit and pulls me away.

We go into the shower room and she cleans my body, afterwards tending to my wounds. “Fifteen, you did well,” she says, rubbing my body with a clear odourless ointment. After she covers my body, she takes me into a room I haven’t been in before, one with dresses and clothing everywhere. The mistress fits me into a tight fitting black bodysuit, similar to the ones the men who brought in the executed wore.

“You are one step closer to becoming an assassin,” the mistress says, still wearing a smile. She looks proud. She takes me to another room; this one filled with weapons, and continues talking. “Your first target will be a feudal lord,” she says, comparing different length straps against my body. “Tomorrow you will depart. You will have three days.”

She leaves the straps and we enter another room. It’s huge, with a garnished wooden table in the centre. There are windows spanning the entire far wall, with blood red drapes. It’s still early morning, and the sun has yet to rise, so candles aligned along the table light the room.

I follow the mistress to a red clothed chair with gold trims. She instructs me to sit, then rushes out of the room. There’s a red and gold runner underneath the candlesticks.

The mistress returns, placing an open map in front of me. “This is the surrounding area, the feudal lord is located here,” she touches a castle that is 10km from our location. I can already see three routes there, and angles to approach the castle.

A waiter enters the room, the mistress nodding at her. My breakfast isn’t the usual nutritional paste. After I finish the mistress takes me to another room for injections. I don’t feel queasy or need look away anymore. The person injecting me has gloves and a surgical mask. The first is a green-yellow fluid, for increasing muscle mass and suppressing hormones. The second is dull red, and look more watery. It contains bacteria and strengthens the immune system. They give me three shots of each; the mistress saying this is for the time it will take me to complete the mission. My arms start to itch at the site of injection.

 

I wake up at 3am. I slip out of the king size bed, still in the suit. It’s light and warm, and no doubt bulletproof and resistant to blade attacks. It’s definitely been weaved with the aid of magic. I tap the alarm and smooth out the sheets, pulling the cover up.

This room is big, the same furniture and theme as the one I had my meals in yesterday, matching in every regard. This is the first time I’ve been in this part of the castle. There’s nothing else in the room, so I open the door and the mistress is waiting for me, smiling.

She takes me to the room filled with weapons and tools from yesterday, strapping and clipping things onto the suit. The total weight is about 5 kg, nothing I can’t handle. I don’t see everything she straps to me, and before I get a chance to examine my equipment she pulls me through another door.

We walk down a hallway, all the way to the end. She then pushes me through the door, “You have three days.” She shuts the door, with haste.

I’m outside. Snow melts against my face, a blanket of whiteness as far as the eye can see. I hear a knock behind me, so I turn. Someone I don’t recognise, an old man, hands me an envelope, then closes the door.

Inside the envelope is a photograph of a man, the map, and a vile of a purple liquid. I have to kill the man in the photograph with the vile of poison. The mistress pointed where to go... there. I memorise the best route again, then fold away the map and slip the items into a pocket on the side of my chest.

My clothing is warm. The snow hasn’t soaked through yet, even though my feet have a soft layer over them. I march through the snow. These clothes keep my body warm but it feels as if I’m not wearing anything at all; the only weight is from the weapons. I feel my equipment – seven knives, two handguns with three spare magazines, a hook and rope, one small medical pack, two food pellets and a cyanide pill.

I continue forward, shielding my face from the snow. I hear the mistress’ voice in my head, telling me to keep alert no matter the conditions. I pull my arm down, squinting to see through the vast whiteness before me. This’ll be easier the faster I go.

I remember the feudal lord’s face, and the map. There were no landmarks, so I need to walk straight and relative to the castle. I look back. My footprints lead back to a wooden shack. We came down a hallway, so either it’s away from the main castle, obscured by a mound of snow, or there’s a visual illusion.

Backing away from the castle, I turn and keep on moving forward. The snow is starting to get thicker. My face doesn’t feel cold. The warmth of the suit is affecting my circulation.

I’m alone. I have time to think of One. I press on as tears roll down my cheeks. I wipe them away and think of something else... I killed Two. I didn’t talk to her, mostly One, but the other girls did. We knew we would have to fight and eventually kill each other. I see her face, before I killed her. She looks like a scared little girl. We’re both scared little girls...

I fall forward, landing on my hands and knees. My hands are moving in the snow. No, my head is swaying about... The weight of my body is heavy. I have to get up... I have to move... I collapse on my side. Tears flow across my cheeks. One... I killed One.

This hurts. All of this hurts. I curl up into a ball, grabbing my knees and pulling them into my chest. My left side pressed against the snow feels wet. My stomach feels empty. My lungs are hollow. It’s getting harder to breathe. I’m taking shorter and shorter breaths... What’s happening to me?

No. I have to calm down. I’m fine.

But I killed One. I killed One then killed Two. I killed two of my sisters.

I have to get up. I push against the snow with my right arm. My strength leaves me before I get off the ground. This is too hard. I didn’t ask for this.

No, I can’t think about this. Not now. I can’t think about this without One to hold me. I need One... I can’t think about this. I can’t do this without One. No. No, I can’t do this.

I have to get up... I can’t do this... It hurts... My chest... stomach... cheeks... I can hear myself sobbing, crying out. I’m weeping into the snow. I can’t do this... It hurts so much...

But... One...

 

My body is sore. I feel heavy. Did I fall sleep? It’s brighter now, so I must have. There’s a lot of snow covering me. I’m not cold. I have to get up... but slowly.

I push my legs out, the snow shifting around me. I get into a sitting position, and then get the strength to stand. I regain my balance after a few seconds. I rotate on the spot, careful not to fall over. I can still see the shack. The feudal lord was due east from the castle, so the sun is rising behind that... It’s around 7.15am.

“Yo!” I hear behind me. It’s a deep voice. I spin and get into a defensive stance. There’s a man standing there, towering over me. I’m not scared. He has a mask covering his nose and mouth and black shadow around his eyes. His jacket is leather, and he has cargo pants with thick combat boots. There’s less snow in the air now. I can do this.

I look at him up and down. He’s in a casual stance, one I can exploit if I go on the offensive. His gloved hands are big, so he is probably strong. Any of my punches or kicks would do very little damage, if at all. I have to assume he’s faster than I am as well.

I don’t move my legs, but I pull out a knife, feigning for a gun. He doesn’t move. I throw the knife at his face, and then take two steps back. When he moves to counter the knife, I can run. The shack isn’t too far away; if I pull my legs up higher to compensate for the loose snow, I’ll be able to outrun him.

He blocks the knife with his right palm, letting the tip stab through his glove. I turn and run, but I slip in the snow and land face first. I shake and push myself up. I don’t have time to consider his actions... I have to–

I feel his hand on the back of my neck. He pushes my face into the snow, squeezing. His fingers are digging into my throat. He’s applying enough pressure to make me pass out... Why doesn’t he... kill me...?

 

My body is stiff... I need to move...

I open my eyes so quickly all I can see is white. My breathing is quick. Calm down... calm down... A rope tying me to a tree trunk comes into focus, wrapped around my chest and my hands. I glance to the side. I’m at least 50m above ground, in a tree. I look around. I can’t see the man, but that doesn’t mean he’s not here. I have to escape and get back to–

“If you fail a mission you will be replaced. Being replaced means death.” The mistress floods my mind. I can’t go back... I can’t. I have to complete the mission. Yes. I must complete the mission before going back. I still have time.

My breathing... Calm down... I can’t see the man. I should use a knife to–! He’s taken my equipment. My bodysuit is uncomfortable. He searched my body and took all of my equipment. He is professional.

“Relax,” the man is front of me. I didn’t see him approach! I shake my head, and finally meet his eyes. He’s holding my knife by the tip, pointing the handle upwards. “You’re from there, aren’t you?” I know what he means. He is talking about the organisation that set up my training. The organisation with my real parents. I do not know the name of the organisation; I know nothing about it. The less I know, the less value I will be as a hostage and the less information I can give away if tortured.

He throws the knife into the tree, nicking my left ear. “Don’t space out me, you owe me one,” he says. Blood runs over my ear, going down my neck and getting into my bodysuit. I can’t see anything in him. We spent hours looking at body gestures and facial expressions to learn how to exploit emotions. I see nothing on his face... Nothing at all.

“Hey! I said don’t space out,” anger flashes over his eyes. I can see hatred, too. Then it’s gone. He switches off his emotions again. “These people...” he mumbles. He pulls the knife from the trunk. When did he move closer to me...? “You’re still spacing out,” he says, brushing my left cheek with the knife. It doesn’t cut my skin, but I can feel he’s applying pressure. He is undoubtedly adept at handling weapons. The angle–

“HEY!” he slaps me. It stings. The knife nicks my bottom lip. He grabs my throat again and pushes me against the trunk, out of anger. I could break his wrist and fracture his elbow if my arms were free. This positioning– He pulls my head away from the trunk and then slams it back. “Are you done spacing out?”

I am scared. His voice has changed. There’s no bloodlust, no hatred or anger either. It’s the coarseness. It sounds strained, oddly terrifying. I feel goose bumps erupt over my body. I’m suddenly sensitive to the warm blood down my left and front.

He spits to the side, and releases his grip. He stands up, pointing the knife at the bridge of my nose. “I’m going to kill you if you fuck up,” he says. Does he work for the organisation? It doesn’t surprise me. It makes sense that they would have someone track me and monitor me on this mission.

“I expected someone older, more experienced, but there’s just... a kid,” he says. He’s looking away, but anger is over his face and words. “I can’t kill a kid... That’s just... wrong.” He squats – my eyes barely follow his moment. The rope around me is looser. He cut the rope when he moved! How didn’t I notice? He’s fast and strong. He can kill me and I can’t stop him.

He jumps down from the tree without looking at me. I pull the rest of the rope off, and then look down. He’s standing at the foot of the tree. This is my rope. I jump down after him, rope in hand. I make a loop in the rope fall in front of his face, and when it’s in front of his neck, I push off his back.

I expect him to fall on top of me, but he doesn’t. I swing into his back, unable to stop myself. I then fall to the ground, on my behind. He turns, frowning at me. “Like that would kill me, fucking... idiot.” He tosses me the rope. “Your equipment is there, in the mound of snow.” He points to a tree.

I get up, looping the rope around one arm. I don’t have a chance to kill him. If the organisation sent him to kill me if I failed, I am already dead. He chose not to kill me because I am young. I brush the snow off my equipment. I have to readjust my bodysuit before wearing my equipment again. He walks past me as I turn.

“It will take you 24 hours to reach the feudal lord,” he says. “Come.” He jogs away. I have no choice but to follow. I run after him.

I am barely able to keep up with his speed, though I don’t feel fatigued. He is probably adjusting himself to benefit me. Why is he doing this? If he was to kill me, why hasn’t he? It can’t be because I am a child. If the organisation raised him, then he would have no problem killing a child.

That’s it! He is a mercenary. The organisation hired him to monitor me once I left the castle. That can explain why he isn’t following orders, but it still has the risk. I am dead if I make a mistake. They wouldn’t let him this close to their base and leave him alone. Do they have sort of special deal? They are secretive enough for it to make sense. No, they wouldn’t hire a mercenary; they would use someone from the inside, someone who has no problem killing a child.

Is he lying to me? He saves my life – no, he only chose not to kill me. That’s not the same thing. I don’t owe him anything. I look at him ahead of me. Why is he bothering with me? More importantly, who is he? He knows about the organisation...

I stop running, transitioning into a forward roll. I then skid to a halt in the snow. I leap right, behind a tree. I keep going. I need to get away from him. He doesn’t know anything more than I do about the organisation. I can’t trust him. I have already wasted so much time.

I feel something connect to my jaw, like a metal wall. I fall backwards. I can taste blood. My mouth is filling up. I lean over and spit, glancing up at my obstacle. It’s the man, arms folded, frowning again.

“What happened? You figure shit out?” He was lying. I was right! I start to crawl away. My head hurts, more than before. The world is spinning... no I’m the one spinning...

I collapse. Did I get a concussion from running into him...? He’s moving. I can hear steps in the snow. He’s picking me up, he’s– He punches me in the face, the stomach, and the chest. He doesn’t hold back. He said he couldn’t kill a kid – was that a lie too? There’s blood in my eyes. I have to close them. It hurts too much. My ribs are broken. One, two... three... four... Is one of them puncturing my lungs? Huh? There’s blood in my mouth again? No, in my throat? Is he going to kill me?

My eyes sting. My nose does too. Did he fracture my skull? He’s strong...

My breathing is slowing down. It doesn’t hurt anymore... Hahaha, this makes sense now. He is here to kill me. I have failed so much. Without One, I wouldn’t be alive. Now that One is gone, it’s obvious I’m a failure. His grip on my throat tightens. I don’t mind dying. If I die... If I... die...

 

It’s bright. I open my eyes. I’m at the bottom of a tree, still in the forest. Wait... I stand. Where is he? My body feels fine. I rub my chest and feel my neck. There’s no sign of injury. Even my ear is fine. There’s no trace of blood. What is going on?

“Relax. I healed you.” It’s the man. He’s on the other side of the tree. He’s keeping his voice low. I look around and I see a brick wall with wooden gate, and two black clad knights standing guard. Is this the feudal lord’s castle? Why did he bring me here?

“Imputresco,” he says, holding up a hand. He’s wearing a glove, but I can see his fingertips. They have no flesh covering them. Imputresco is the rot discipline. We haven’t gone into detail for individual disciplines, just basic identifies and general weaknesses. For Imputresco, the biggest weakness is that it needs contact.

I adjust my bodysuit again and crouch. “Good,” he puts down his arm. “I can distract the guards. Use that chance to sneak inside and kill the feudal lord. He should still be in his chambers, sleeping, even at this time of day.”

He disappears before I can say anything. Do I trust him? He hasn’t killed me three times now. I don’t have time. I move around the tree, just a little. One of the knights falls, from a bullet to head. The man is amazing. The other knight looks at the direction of the attack, away from the other knight, drawing a sword from his back. That’s the distraction.

I run past, faster than I’ve gone before. The gate is heavy but I push it open. Once inside, I hide around the corner, sinking into the shadows. One... Two... Three... Four.... Five... He hasn’t followed me here. I should move.

I dart through the stables and stalls. This feudal lord doesn’t seem to be very powerful. There’s no patrolling knights, and the area isn’t that big. I make it to a door, which I slip through, into the kitchen.

Two maids discuss the feudal lord’s breakfast, at midday. He’s in the top most tower, at the back of the castle. I follow one of the maids when she leaves. Keeping hidden is easy when all I have to worry about are citizens.

We make it to the stairwell, pushing through another set of wooden doors. When they swing shut, I move behind the maid. She walks up the stairs, with me close behind. I keep enough distance that she won’t see me if she turns around.

The maid enters the feudal lord’s room. I wait for her to leave before entering the room myself, hidden by the door. He is still asleep, but it’s definitely him. I pull out the poison and pour it into the glass of water. It blends in without a trace. I hurry out of the room, dashing down the stairs and out the wooden door.

I did it. I completed the mission. I make my way out, pushing through the gate unnoticed. Both black knights are on the ground, a joined pool of blood under them. The man is up ahead, behind a tree, his left side showing.

Careful to avoid the spilled blood, I join the man. He doesn’t smile; instead, he looks angry. He walks off without a word. I don’t have to follow him anymore. I can return to the mistress and tell her I completed the mission. I’ll wait until he’s gone. I still have two and a half days.

He stops before he is out of earshot. He doesn’t look back. “It was a setup. Made just for you.” He resumes walking. “Live. Don’t let them turn you into a mindless assassin.” I don’t move. It makes sense that it was a setup. I can already see the fault in my haste. I wasn’t able to confirm he’d taken the poison either. A mission like this requires longer infiltration.

“Else the next time we meet, I’ll kill you,” he says the last part with intent. What does he mean? Who is this man? He leaves without another word. I make for the left side of the forest, and then run through trees and snow. I run until I’m exhausted.

I curl up against a tree, covering myself in snow. It’s only late afternoon. I will travel by darkness tomorrow, and report everything back to the mistress.


	2. Part Two

Fifteen years have passed since I was here. I encountered a masked man, Atrophy, an Imputresco user. I had failed to kill him, while he had given up the chance to finish me off thrice. That was his mistake, as I was now hunting him down. On that day, he killed three operatives, the three that were to track me through the forest.

Atrophy is strong. He killed three of us, three of the La Morte Silenziosa. Neither of the three had training as rigorous as mine, but the fact still stands. My memories of him are vague, merged with one of my sisters dying. I remember the torture that followed more than the actual events. However, I haven’t forgotten his mask.

He has a mask, constructed of different metals, that covers the lower half of his face. His blackened eyes and shallow cheeks contradict his large physique. We assume he is covering his decayed face, suppressing the decay with a type of Magebound magic or symbol. It’s the same assumption for his left hand, devoid of all muscle but not decaying further.

Imputresco is the magic he uses. The three mages he killed had rotted throats, his signature. I rub my throat. He grabbed me and didn’t kill me. I survived because of his passing whim. It sickens me. He didn’t end my life at that time, when he had no reason to leave me alive. His last words to me were instructions to live, and to one day die by his hands.

I refuse. No one can tell me what to do, especially not some fucking mercenary. I keep walking, passing the castle of the feudal lord. I thought it was all a setup, even him. How naïve of me. I should be thankful he escaped that day, so I can get my revenge now.

Fuck. Now I’m pissed off again. I keep trudging through the snow. Why did he show up here again? A message to me? That’s possible, however oddly timed, exactly fifteen years later. Hah. He’s going to be in the lodge down by the river. It’s a recent building, sadly not affiliated with us. However, if it were, he’d already be dead, and I wouldn’t have this chance.

It’s a quick jog to the lodge, only 3km away from the remnants of the feudal lord’s castle. The lodge looks old, with a flaking paint and a chipped sign. A fake window has boards around it. It’s all for the appearance of longevity. Pathetic.

Before I reach the lodge, I pull my backpack off. It’s black, matching my bodysuit. This day, fifteen years ago, was the first time I wore one of these body suits. I unpack a fleece jacket and ski pants. They’re both pink, very different from the black I would prefer. Not wearing makeup is bad enough.

When dressed, I sling my backpack over one shoulder, put on a smile, and walk up to the lodge. Someone opens the door, a dark skinned tourist. I smile and we exchange pleasantries. He’s too relaxed, full of openings. He holds the door open for me, complimenting my features, to which I blush. What a useless thing to say.

Inside it’s easy to tell the lodge is new. Polished tables and decorative seating floods the area. There’s a clear path to the reception, and despite the amount of furniture, the lodge is relatively empty. Three men are to my far right, just before a spiralling stairway. They are laughing to themselves. To my immediate left there’s a young couple with their child, a boy around 11 years old. He’s looking at me, so I show smile and close my eyes. The couple distract him with a lecture about the use of sunscreen even in the snow and I move on.

There’s another man standing by the reception desk, eyeing me. He has dull brown hair, grey eyes, stands approximately 180cm tall, and has a bulky half ski mask on. His jacket is brown leather. This is Atrophy. This is the man I’m after. I smile at him as I approach the desk.

The receptionist is bubbly, offering me a special deal if I stay an extra night, which I decline. Atrophy steps next to me, putting his right arm around my waist, grabbing both my arms. Shit. I didn’t see him move closer, and I didn’t distract myself. He has me pinned. He is still faster than I am.

“Fran’s going to stay with me,” he says. I have no choice but to agree, and the receptionist gives me a look. I nod and she writes down my name, not even asking for any ID. This lodge is perfect for criminal activity; there are no questions asked.

We link fingers and walk past the three men, all smiling at us. We ascend the stairway, not breaking our happy faces when out of everyone’s view. Atrophy pulls away from me to unlock his room, gesturing for me to enter first. This is bad, but I might as well play along. I don’t know how he recognised me.

I walk past him, smiling, but making sure our eyes meet. He still looks happy. Does he not realise who I am? It’s possible. I can’t make that assumption, though. The room has a single bed, small washroom and nothing else to it. To be expected from a lodge of this size and worth.

I drop my bag at the foot of his bed, then turn to face him. He’s not smiling anymore, brow folded. I open my mouth to say something but he shakes his head. He knows exactly who I am. Accompanying him to the room was a mistake, but I can’t linger now. There’s probably something in the washroom I can use, if I can just get there before him.

“You’re still spacing out,” he says. His voice has the coarseness it had before. I can remember things he said more clearly now. He did tell me not to space out a few times. He’s folding his arms, looking down on me. I have two knives tucked under my ski jacket. I start to unzip it, not showing the knives, but he knows my play.

He is fast. He pins me against the wall, though I’m able to pull out a knife with my left hand. He pushes one hand against my throat, gloved, and the other has my wrist gripped, pressing it against my chest.

I can tell by his eyes that he’s grinning. “Still slow,” he whispers. His expression tightens, to one of sick pleasure. He is a sicko. A fucking sick mercenary. He pisses me off.

I kick his side with my left, which doesn’t get a reaction. I’m able to force my right leg between us. I try to push him away – he’s too strong. He looks like he’s about to laugh. What a fuckin–

He is crushing my trachea. I shouldn’t have insisted on that I chase him down; he’s still too much for me. I can’t push against his force; he really is going to kill me, like he said back then.

It hurts behind my eyes... I’m blacking out...

He pulls away and steps back. I fall to the floor, coughing. Calm down... With my breathing under control, I stand back up. He’s expressionless. I touch my throat. It’s not rotting. That’s good. I glance down to check he’s wearing gloves.

He’s fast, punching me in the stomach as I glance down. My clothing and bulk protects me. I swipe at his face with the knife, and he blocks with his jacket. I slice through his sleeve and leave a gash on his right arm.

He advances, pushing his arm against my jaw. I’m able to get my knife up to his throat. I can tell he’s grinning again. He releases his grip and steps back. He reminds me of the mistress back then, when I killed one of my sisters. He’s proud of me, looking at me like he fucking owns me.

I pull out my other knife, but he returns to a casual stance. He looks down, just for a moment, returning his gaze to me. Was that remorse?

“Why didn’t you leave?” he asks. Like I’m going to answer him. I feint for his left cheek with my right hand. He leans right, and I slash across his face with my left hand. He falls back on the bed and kicks me into the wall.

I bang my head, so he has another chance to attack me, but he doesn’t. He’s standing on the side of the bed that’s away from the door. He passed up the chance to kill me again. What the fuck is his game.

“I can’t kill a child–”

“What the fuck do you know about me?” I snap, throwing the knife in my right hand. I lunge, pointing the other at his face. He bats away the first knife and tackles me onto the bed, holding my left hand above my head. His mask is touching my face, and his whole body is smothering me.

“What do I know about you?” he whispers. He’s drooling, and it’s coming through the mask. His free left hand caresses my cheek. “I know you’ve grown into a fine woman.”

“Fuck off,” I retort. I’m in no position to argue him, but my right arm is free. All I need is one wound and I can kill him. I wrap my right arm around his torso. I can see his shock. I frown. “Kill me, asshole,” I spit, closing my mouth afterwards to avoid his drool entering.

I throw the knife from my left hand to my right, and then stab his back. He doesn’t flinch. I pull the knife out and go to stab again but he catches my elbow. “Stop this,” he sounds sad this time. He gently places my arm on the bed and gets off. “You don’t have to do this,” he says. What the fuck is he?

He has a wound on his back, cheek and arm, and he hasn’t healed. Hah, this is turning out quite good. I won’t be able to transfer blood if he’s been careful not to wound me. I need to think of a way to transfer my blood...

“What do you want me to do?” I say. I keep my face covered in anger. He doesn’t see through it, though does look confused by my response. He keeps quiet, feeling the mood. Without looking away, I move to the other side of the bed and stand.

“It’s too late for you.”

“I’ll prove to you I’m not a child. Then will you take me seriously?” I shrug off my pink jacket.

He looks at me, with concern this time. Does he fucking think he has the right to be concerned about me? Who does he think he is? My expression shows real anger, to which he laughs at.

“You really think you can fucking kill me?” His eyes widen as he starts to shout. “Do you really fucking think someone of your calibre is enough to fucking take me down? You’re all fucking idiots! It would be insulting if it weren’t so fucking amusing! I’ll kill you!”

He leaps over the bed and plants a kick in my chest. He is so fast I can only brush his leg with my hands, banging my head against the wall and back against a table. I see his fist cover my vision a few times. Blood is trickling down my face... Perfect.

I’m losing consciousness again. This is the second time he’s beaten me to near death. Maybe this time he will kill me, and I can be with One again...

One... I haven’t thought of you for a while. What would you have turned out like? Would we go on missions together? I would like that. I miss you, One...

 

Again... I’m awake. I keep my eyes closed. He’s bound me to the bed with rope, like I’m an exhibit or some shit. I’m naked. I open my eyes and he’s standing there, at the foot of the bed. We’re still in the lodge. He has healed the cut on his cheek. I was bleeding when he knocked me out, but I’m not now. He healed me again, fuck!

Is he going to torture me? Hah, and he complained about being underestimated before. I go to open my mouth, but he shakes his head, holding up a knife. Sexual abuse? Hahaha, he really doesn’t know a thing about me. I’m smiling, and it’s pissing him off. This is going to be fun.

He runs the tip of the knife along my right leg, slowly making his way up towards my genitals. He nicks my labia, drawing blood. This pain doesn’t even register with me. He seems to notice, thrusting the knife. It cuts into my urethra, not really doing much damage. He twists the knife and– he’s going to leave it there, turning away. Yes...

When he turns back around, he’s not wearing any gloves. I have to be serious now. He caresses my left leg with his right hand, lightly moving his hand down to my inner thigh and back again. He seems to enjoy teasing me, lifting his hand and instead placing a single finger on my skin. He draws a line from my foot to my pubic area, then down my other leg. His finger meets the end of my big toe, then he activates his magic, and my toe rots away.

There’s a tingling sensation, like pins and needles. My skin peels back, slowly, layer by layer. This is a different kind of pain... I’m not used to it, but it doesn’t hurt. He leaves my toe with just the first few layers of skin gone. There’s a lot of blood, running off my foot and down my leg.

He’s stern, pressing his finger into the blood trail, following it to my genitals. He rubs over my pubic area again, bumping the knife... My stomach muscles tense from the pleasure. He seems displeased with my reaction, and pulls the knife out abruptly. He inserts four fingers into my vagina, and then starts to decay it, furthering his hand into me.

This... this is pain. I can’t stop my body from shivering. He uses the knife to slice at my inner thighs. That won’t affect me, though in combination... He leans forward and stabs below my belly button with the knife, wiggling it around. He pulls his hand out of my genitals and pushes a finger into the wound on my abdomen, pushing in more fingers as he pulls away the knife.

I keep watching him as he gets more fingers in the wound. He pushes down and my skin tears open. This doesn’t hurt at all. His whole hand enters my stomach, the feeling erotic. He moves his hand around, as if feeling for something, then pulls his hand out, not being gentle.

He’s been looking at me the whole time, gauging the effectiveness of his torture by my expression. I need the right moment. His right hand has my blood all over it, so all I need to do is break his skin. Although, I wouldn’t mind being tied up here for a while longer. He can tell I’m enjoying the knife play, so he drops both of them. With speed, he jams two fingers into the top of each thigh, activating his magic. He pushes all the way to the bone, and I scream. He pulls his fingers out, pulling on the rotting flesh.

This hurts... This really fucking hurts. This fucking hurts so much. He does it again, to my calves, feet and other places on my thighs. In seconds, my legs are red with blood and I can see bone. I’ve almost adjusted to the pain, but it’s starting to numb away. I’m losing too much blood.

He lets me catch my breath. Calm... I close my eyes and control my breathing. Then I feel his hand around my throat, and I tense up. I don’t dare to open my eyes. Will he kill me? No, this is my chance! I need more blood, though.

My breathing slows down, and I hear him chuckle. Don’t focus on him. I increase the rate my body produces blood, as well as seal the wounds on my legs. His grip on my throat tightens. I can feel his fingers digging into my neck muscles. No... Shit! He’s decaying my neck muscles... Ah fucking shit this actually hurts more. I have to attack now.

I focus my breathing, and then I create paper-thin thorns in my neck, just where his hand is touching me. I make them only a few millimetres in length. They all pierce his hand and inject my blood from the tips. He pulls his hand away, and I completely heal my neck muscles before my head flops back.

I take two deep breaths while he curses, examining his hand. I close my eyes again and focus on healing away all of my wounds. It will take me a while to recover, but I can enter a state of almost instant healing.

I have to get out of here. I open my eyes, and the first thing I see are two of his fingers. They dig into my eyes, and he starts to decay them, oh fuck...! My healing counteracts the decaying, but it still hurts, more than when he assaulted my legs.

I feel his palm press onto my stomach, and he starts to decay that as well, to the same effect. He seems to realise, moving his hand from my stomach to my neck, digging fingers around my throat. He starts to decay my neck again, faster this time. He pushes up and hooks his fingers around my eye socket, trying to decay the bone. I keep my breathing slow.

These bindings are hasty. I can free my right foot by pulling down at the right angle. Atrophy lets go of my neck and resorts to punching me in the stomach and chest, swearing at me. If we met under different circumstances, we’d probably get along.

I pull my right foot free, and then use my toes to loosen the rope on my other foot. With both feet free, and Atrophy distracted, I tense my abs and swing my legs up– he sits on my torso, just before I can pull it off.

He keeps his fingers in my eyes, grabbing my throat his with other hand. “Now you’ll fucking die, bitch!” he shouts, my neck starting to decay. My healing stops anything but skin and slight muscle damage, but he is persistent.

He curses me again, finally removing his fingers from my eyes. He takes his hand off my throat too. Before my vision heals, he throws punches into my face. Has he given up? This pain is nothing. I don’t even need to heal the injuries from something like this.

My eyes heal, and between punches, I can see that he is crying. He’s sobbing, babbling out profanities. He finally stops, twisting my head away and holding it down. He is really crying, shouting in pain. Who the fuck is he?

“Paola... Macchione...” he says. He sounds utterly defeated. His voice still has its coarseness, but there’s overbearing sadness in it. He has no control over his emotions. “I... I can’t kill you...”

He then punches me again, while holding my head. I black out.

 

Fuck... Again... I sit up. My head hurts. I’m dressed, all equipment attached, pink ski gear on. I don’t need to look around to know he’s not here. He’s already gone. I stand, leaning against the wall for support. Fuck... My body is heavier than it should be... This is just from exerting myself, calm down. He didn’t finish me off again, the fucking dickhead.

I walk out of the room, picking up my bag on the way. I close the door, smiling the best I can. I walk down the front lobby. Five different people are here, but I don’t have the energy to pay them attention; I have a headache. Judging by the sun through the windows... late morning.

The receptionist gives me a smile, which I attempt to reflect back. My eyelids feel heavy. “Mr Macchione has already checked out, I’m afraid. He said you’d know where to find him, but wouldn’t tell me where that is,” she says. She starts to babble on about attractive mysterious men are, and how lucky I was to have him. I thank her and leave the lodge in a hurry.

I walk forward in the snow to wake myself up. When I’m so far away from the lodge I can’t even see it from turning around, I take off my ski clothes and pack them away. I return to walking through the snowy forest.

Atrophy... Just who the fuck are you?

Back at the remains of the fake feudal lord’s castle, I meet my partner, Meraviglia Fuoco. He’s smiling, as usual, though drops it when he sees my pissed off expression. He asks me how it went but I ignore him with a scowl and shoulder past. He follows, chatting about what kind of men would be at the lodge.

“Men like a psychotic killer, too!” he chirps, placing his hand on my right shoulder. We stop. “You can share your stories with me; I’ll listen like you listen to me.” This fucking guy... He’s stupid and annoying. He keeps telling me about shit I don’t care about, thinking I’m listening when I’m just ignoring. I shrug off his hand and keep walking. He doesn’t follow this time.

“He got away, didn’t he?” he asks. His tone is different, flatter, and actually serious.

I stop. “What’s it to you?”

“We’re partners now. Next time we do it together. We won’t have to kill each other, like back–”

What does he know about killing his sisters? He stops talking when I walk away. After a few seconds, he jogs to catch up and spins me around. I can’t hide my tears. He just hugs me, not saying a word. Why am I...? One... I miss her so much. I cry out, and he keeps holding me. My arms crawl up his back, slipping under his backpack and pulling his warm body towards me.

 

One... I’m okay. How are you? I haven’t forgotten you. I miss you every day. We had moments like this, with you holding me as I cried, remember? I’ve found someone warm to hug. I won’t forget you, One, so just wait for me. I’ll fix this fucking world and you won’t have died for nothing.

One... Ona... I think I can call you that now. I love you, Ona.

 

I release my arms, and Meraviglia lets go. My tears have dried, but he wipes them away anyway, his warm fingers soothing against my cheeks. I want to hold his hand and keep it there... No, I don’t have time for this. I turn away.

“He got away,” I say, remembering what he said. “He called me Paola Macchione.”

Meraviglia walks up beside me, touching my left hip and pulling me closer. “What do you think that means?” he asks, walking me forward. We continue through the snow, heading to the castle. I haven’t been to this entrance in a few years.

“He was crying. He kept saying he couldn’t kill me.”

Meraviglia starts to rub my side. It’s comforting. “He said before, didn’t he, when he attacked you out here?” I didn’t tell him about that, though it’s no surprise he knows. The mistress gave me information on him before we became partners, so the opposite must be true.

“Yeah...” I don’t feel like talking about this anymore. Meraviglia picks up, still rubbing my side, changing the conversation to one about the trees. He tells me some people plant a tree when their child is born, and when that child moves away the well-being of the tree reflects that of the child. It lets the parents sleep with ease.

I remember the notes saying his parents sold him to the organisation, killed right after. Like me, he never knew his real parents, raised with false siblings, trained to kill from birth. It feels like that fact brings us closer, as if we are one. I can feel his warmth through our body suits, but I want to feel the warmth of his skin.

...  
That’s strange. I’ve never felt this way before. I haven’t connected with someone since... I stop, and Meraviglia abruptly does the same.

He looks to me, and I shake my head and go to move on but he grabs my wrist. “The tree is in our hearts, Veleno,” he says. His voice sounds so much softer now. His lips dance as he continues his explanation. “Its roots are our hearts and its fruit are our memories. We can remember everyone we miss.”

I want to reach out and hug him again. I put down my arms and free my wrist from his grip. “What do you–” Why am I like this? I don’t have to be anymore. “Who have you lost?” I try to sound as polite as I can, and he just smiles at me. He seemed a little sad before, but now he’s back to his happy self.

“I killed my brothers,” he walks up and grabs my hand, entwining his fingers with mine. “All of them. To save them.” He looks strangely proud, accomplished even. “They didn’t want this life. I killed them so they live on in me, in my memories, in my tree.”

He is happy with how it turned out. I can tell he regrets killing them. I can see in his expressions he wished there was another way. That must be why he wants the ideal world; he wants somewhere where killing people isn’t an option.

He leans in, hugging me again. This time it’s for his benefit, as I hear his breathing falter with sobs. Ona... I have found someone else I love. It’s just like how we used to be. Meraviglia pulls away, his tears gone. He smiles, fingers still locked together.

“Let’s go,” he says. I smile back, to which he laughs a little. His laugh is cute. We continue walking towards the castle, hand in hand, leaning on each other.

I’ll show you the ideal world, Ona, just wait.


	3. Part Three

“Oh man! Can you believe it’s been over 100 years?” Meraviglia’s ecstatic as usual, while I keep my arms folded, frowning, looking away.

“Yeah, a long time,” I reply. Every time I’ve been here, I’ve learnt something about myself. The first time I realised my true feelings for Ona, my childhood sister, and the second time my feelings for Meraviglia. I love them both the same. That doesn’t mean he’s not annoying.

“I kinda wish I went into the Inn with you, back then, just so I can tell the difference between then and now,” he babbles on. I’m barely listening, though that’s never stopped him. We’re walking towards an Inn, located a few kilometres out of the east exit to the castle. This was the least used exit of the castle, which only bred criminal behaviour down here.

Without us there to keep them away, drug smugglers and human traffickers settled down in the Inn, using it as a meeting place and hideout from other authorities, who didn’t dare come so close to the castle. In a way, we protected them.

We reach the Inn, approaching the back. I go around left while Meraviglia goes right. We meet on the entrance side, guns drawn. We don’t wear body suits anymore, having access to personal choice when it comes to clothing. I’m wearing a loose black blouse that reaches my lower hips, black tights and a lack undershirt, all underneath a tight black leather jacket and thick black jeans. My outfit has no places for weapons; these guns are his.

Meraviglia kicks down the door and we burst inside, only to see a bloodbath. Fuck. Someone else has already been here. Is this a deterrent? Killing the people in the foyer to intimidate or make us turn back won’t work. We continue forward, the layout the same as 100 years ago.

The receptionist is dead, shot in the head with a shotgun. She probably knew what was happening here, so either way she would be dead. Meraviglia walks up the stairs while I check the back room, behind the desk. There’s nothing of note here, just more corpses and blood. I return to the foyer and walk up the stairs.

Meraviglia nods at the middle door in the hall, the only one he hasn’t kicked open yet. This is a small building. If that’s the only place he hasn’t checked, someone is definitely in there. The door is ajar, so with a light nudge its open. He enters and I follow.

Sitting on the bed is a man in a mask, Atrophy. He is ghastly. He glowers at us both. We have guns pointed at him, yet we both hesitate. He is our enemy. We have to kill him. Something makes me want to keep him alive. He’s sitting in the open, waiting for us to find him. There’s blood on his hands. He probably killed everyone in here. That’s no reason not to kill him right now.

“I didn’t expect you,” he says, looking at me.

“Fuck off,” I retort, adjusting my aim for his head and firing. He is incredibly fast, the bullet only grazing the right of his head. He tackles me, lifting me out in the halls, avoiding shots from Meraviglia.

I lodge my foot on the bottom of the doorframe, and using his momentum; I push him over my head and then move to the side. Meraviglia comes out of the room, shooting three times. Atrophy doesn’t move, slumped against the wall, head down, and three bullet holes in his chest.

He holds up both hands, head down. I shoot a hole through his right hand and he attempts to chuckle, coughing instead. Blood joins the saliva dripping from his mask. Meraviglia looks at me, nodding. He’s out of ammunition. I have to make the final shot, before Atrophy realises.

“Hear...” he coughs again, a lot more blood coating his mask. “Hear me out... please.” Meraviglia shakes his head. I can get a clean shot, but I want to hear him out. I do want to know more about him, more than what I already know, and I can’t get that information if he’s dead.

What am I doing? Why don’t I kill him? I have no reason for that information. He killed all the people here. He’s killed members of our group. He knows about us. I have to kill him.

He chuckles again, followed by even more coughing. “I’m... sorry,” he coughs until he falls to the side, breath shortening. I keep my aim on his head, and he looks up, right into my eyes. I’ve killed people looking at me with their last desperate plea to live. This is different. He’s proud of me, just like back then.

It doesn’t anger me this time. Who is he? Why is he like this? Why didn’t he ever kill me? Why did he let us find him and kill him now? I hear Meraviglia reload his gun, and without thinking, I reach out and grab his shoulder, pulling him back so he shoots the wall and not Atrophy. He glares at me, but then Atrophy starts to cough again.

“I’ll... tell you... the truth,” he says, using all of his strength to sit back upright. I lower my gun and squat, so my eyes are level with his. Meraviglia sighs and holsters his gun, tapping me on the shoulder and walking out. He trusts me on this, though I know he’ll start to burn the place down before I’m out.

His eyes don’t belong to someone who has killed. He looks human. I feel... safe. I have no way of knowing if he’s faking it and going to attack me, but I fall forward onto my knees and crawl towards him, pushing away my gun.

His eyes watch me as I reach behind his head and unclip his mask – I don’t know why I’m doing this; I just feel like I should. It falls, revealing a decaying jaw, dripping with saliva. This is his true face. I don’t feel scared.

“You’ve grown up, Paola,” he says, reaching for my face. What is he going to do? Why am I so trusting of him? I should move away. I don’t know what he’s going to do. I feel drawn to him, so I raise my own hand to meet his. 

His right hand is rough, dull red bloodstains down to his wrist. I place my hand over it, and I think he smiles. He starts to cough again, turning away so he doesn’t cough onto me. I reach out to touch his face but he grabs my wrist. His scowl returns, so I slide on the ground. I stop against the opposite wall, beside the door, his look immediately softening.

“Make sure... this is the path you want,” he coughs between breaths. “I lost you, so... so long ago, Paola.” Tears run into his rotting jaw, mixing with the saliva and blood. Without his mask on, more of his face is decaying away. Pieces of flesh start to fall of his cheeks.

“I thought... I could save you... from this life,” his breaths get shorter and his coughing gets louder. I can hear wood burning, the smell slowly filling the room. I stand while Atrophy keeps coughing. “I’m... so... sorry... Paola.” He falls face down and I just watch. I should get out. I want to help him, but... I want to know what he’s going to say– No; I just want to save him, like how he saved me.

What the fuck is this feeling? Remorse? Why would I want to repay him? He continues to cough. Smoke emanates through the floor, the burnt timber smell pleasant compared to the stinging sensation of the smoke. I’m going to leave. I walk away. I have to ignore his coughing.

“I love you... Paola... I’m sorry I... couldn’t protect... you,” his coughing gets worse as I reach the stairs, his voice already fading behind the crackling of fire. “I made a promise I wouldn’t... let them have you... I’m...” he reaches out for me, eyes wet, and although he doesn’t have lips, overwhelming sadness covers his face. His eyes slowly close.

I walk back. What am I doing? I grab his hand and lift his torso into a sitting position. Why do I care about him? I push my fingers into his bullet wounds and start to heal him with my magic. Why the fuck am I doing this?

After a few seconds, Atrophy opens his eyes. He looks drowsy. He’s about to pass out again. “Paola...” he reaches for my face with his left hand, but it falls before he can touch me. I focus more on healing his wounds. If I want to take him out of here... What? Why am I doing this? I pull my fingers out and push back to the other side of the hall.

“Please... don’t forgive your father... Paola....” he says, collapsing for the last time. My father...? My father...? My... father...? What...? My stomach hurts. I curl up into a ball, hugging my knees. My father... He was my father... I feel warm tears forced out as I squeeze my eyes shut.

 

“I can’t kill a kid...”  
“Live. Don’t let them turn you into a mindless assassin.”  
“Why didn’t you leave?”  
“You’ve grown into a fine woman.”  
“It’s too late for you.”  
“Paola... Macchione... I can’t kill you...”  
“You’ve grown up, Paola.”  
“Make sure... this is the path you want.”  
“I lost you, so... so long ago, Paola.”  
“I love you, Paola.”  
“Please... don’t forgive your father...”

 

When I come to my senses, I’m cold and wet. My body aches. My knees are digging into my chin. How long have I been like this? I force my eyes open. The Inn burns in front of me, the smell of burnt timber and smoke still lingering in my nose and throat. I dry retch.

“Hey,” I hear Meraviglia beside me. I have to roll over a little to see him. He looked concerned, doesn’t say anything else. I’ve been crying. Sitting up, I reach out and he grabs my hand. He’s always so warm.

“He was my father,” I say, smiling. I take a deep breath, and when I exhale, it feels good. Everything has gone. It makes sense now. I have come to terms with Atrophy being my father. I will keep him in my heart and show him the ideal world, with Ona.

Meraviglia lightly laughs. “I may have—uh—burned your father to death. Sorry about that.” He puts one hand behind his head and closes his eyes, typically comical.

I smile. “It’s fine.” I pull myself closer to him and he winces. He stands and then takes off his denim jacket. His upper body has fresh burns all over, even his hands. Meraviglia covered them with snow, but there’s still serious. “I thought you were impervious to heat?”

He sits down as I stand, wiping my eyes. “Heat. Not fire. Fire burns. I had to save you, too. And get back my gun.” I take off his shirt and place my hands on his chest. “And I’m really sorry about killing your father.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’d rather it be you than anyone else.” He smiles at that response, and then a cheeky grin takes over. “What?”

“You’re not so glum anymore. Have you found your inner self?”

“Oh fuck off,” I say. He chuckles, so I dig my fingers into his chest and he quickly apologies, asking me to move onto his back. I smile and continue to heal him.

Ona... Father... I’m going to do it for you both. I’ll make the ideal world.


End file.
